Sanctuary
It is snowing. It is the fourth day of spring and snow is falling. Constant. Steadfast.
Flakes fall outside the window; I am looking into a snow-globe-world that has been upended.
It has been too warm recently for the snow to stick to the walks but the grass accepts it, welcomes it, and rests under it, comforted. The early flowers of spring, the appropriately named snowdrops and the purple, gold, and white croci – a name I enjoy almost as much as the flower – will wait and, once the snow has melted, will resume blooming, unfazed.
Not unusual, this inversion of seasons at the northern 42nd parallel.
And, normally, not entirely welcomed.
Now, it is helpful. As we are told to “shelter in place,” the weather supports us, encouraging us to cozy up and settle in.